


Remember

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Pagan Gods, Supernatural - Freeform, pagan goddess!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-10 03:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3275177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon request: "Hey could you write a fic based of the supernaturalimagines one shot about the reader living with TFW and Gabriel shows up and recognizes you as a pagan goddess he knew long ago but you had lost your memories? (You are my go to Gabriel writer btw, you are fuckin amazing)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I adore writing Gabriel! And what else do I love? Sharing my massive amount of lore knowledge!   
> PS I chose the Norse goddess Freyja (or Freya), I hope you don't mind!

You weren't exactly a run-of-the-mill hunter.

Sure, you hunted every manner of beast, creature, and monster and did your damnedest to protect the innocent civilians...But you were an oddball.

For as long as you could remember, you'd been hunting. Anything before that was just a fuzzy black pit that had your head aching when you tried to suss up memories. But you must have been raised into it. Your instinct was honed to lethal perfection.

You were capable of waking from a dead sleep at the slightest breath of sound. Stalking and sleuthing were as natural as breathing. Anything was a weapon in your hands; even when you were left with naught but your knuckles and the old, delicate rings that they bore. Your vision was keen, but your senses of smell and hearing were even greater. You were uneasy with firearms, preferring to use daggers, knives, and other blades. To be honest, any throwing knife in your hand was just as deadly as a bullet from the Winchesters' guns. Your chosen weapons were a pair of short katana-like blades that you wore strapped to your thighs or back depending on what you were hunting. Dean had called them impractical, 'stupid' really, until he'd seen just how lethal you were with them.

But odder than those things was your body and its quirks. When you cried, it wasn't tears that dripped...It was blood, red and thinned. You'd only cried once in front of the Winchesters and they'd been, well, horrified. Thankfully, they'd accepted your excuses of hereditary causes. Truthfully, that was just another thing you couldn't explain. Crying tears of blood? Very odd.

Your endurance levels were unbeatable. Even Sam, who was capable of jogging for miles without faltering had a hard time keeping up that time you'd sprinted after a werewolf. You could jump higher, move quicker than either of them. And you were strong, despite your feminine form and looks. Dean had been more than surprised when you'd easily fixed a dent in the Impala's trunk with a quick couple punches.

Oh, yes. You were no run-of-the-mill hunter. That was for certain.

You huffed quietly, watching the boys finish disposing of the corpses of the werewolves. The house was an absolute wreck. A window had been shattered and a few chairs had been left broken. There were long furrows from claws and more than a few spatters and pools of blood. Thankfully, the house's resident cat had emerged unscathed.

The small ball of fluffy orange fur was busy threading between your legs. Large, sapphire eyes blinked up as its mouth parted. A needy meow had you smiling.

Dean, being allergic to dander, disliked animals. He grudgingly accepted their presence when it was absolutely necessary, but it was clear he had little love for anything of the sort. Sam, on the other hand, adored canines. But you'd always held a soft spot in your heart for felines. They were adorable little hunters covered in gorgeous pelts. Their temperaments varied as wildly as humans' did.

You bent and lifted the feline to your chest. Its tiny head rubbed across your jaw as it let out a pumping purr. Whiskers tickled your cheek as you smiled into the soft fur of its ruff. The cat let out an almost inquisitive meow. Thoughtlessly, you began mimicking its purrs; something in the back of your throat vibrating quietly. The feline's purrs grew until it practically rumbled in your arms. Sam and Dean found you like that; leaned against the wall with an armful of cat, cooing and purring at it.

"Y/N, what're doing? Put the damn cat down. All that fur is gonna make me sneeze like crazy." Dean groused.

"I'll change before we leave, Dean. He just wanted a little loving, didn't you, handsome?"

You tickled beneath the cat's chin. Its blue eyes slitted shut as it purred.

Sam grinned, reaching out to ruffle its ears. You held up a finger.

"Not a dog, Sam. Let him check you out first."

Sam ducked his head a little and held out his fingers tentatively. The orange cat sniffed delicately before parting its mouth to memorize the scent of his skin. Then, it bumped its head against Sam's fingers. The younger Winchester fairly grinned as he scratched at the feline's ears.

"Boy, he's really friendly."

You smiled fondly at the fluff ball. "Cats are far from stupid. They can tell when a person is good and when one is bad. You're a good guy, Sam. Hence why handsome, here, is lovin' on you."

Dean made a disgusted noise. "Can we get this show on the road, please? I have a bed that is calling my name."

Sam stepped away and picked up his bag. "All right, all right. Meet you at the car, Y/N."

The brothers let the door close after themselves.

You sighed into the cat's fur. Felines always had a homey, sweet scent to you. The little creature blinked up at you and let out a plaintive meow. You smiled sadly.

"I know, sweetheart. And I'd love to take you home, too. But I can't. Tell you what, I bet that family down the road would take you in. They seemed nice and in need of a friend."

Blue eyes blinked slowly, a sign of deep trust and affection. You copied the jesture and bent to press a kiss into the fur of its forehead. The feline touched its nose to your's before blinking again. With a tiny twinge, you opened the door and set it down. It brushed against your pants' leg before trotting off in direction of the neighbor's house.

 

 

By the time the three of you had returned to the bunker, it was late.

The sky was dark and scattered with stars. The tiny pin-pricks of white glowed like diamonds set in a sheet of the finest jet or ebony. Or like a veil of snow blossoms in some goddess of old's hair. You blinked at the passing thought. Where had that come from?

"Hey, Y/N, wanna pass me my bag?" Dean held his hand out, using the other to ruffle his hair tiredly.

You nodded quickly, snatching up the canvas duffle.

There was a sudden change in the air. Electricity seemed to weave through it. The atmosphere popped a little in your ears. You were used to the signs of an approaching angel. Castiel was quite fond of appearing spontaneously. You'd come to recognize the signs as a calling card of his.

But it wasn't Castiel's cloud-and-smoke scent that teased your nose when footsteps whispered across the ground. No, this scent was warm and sugary, like caramel mixed with burnt ash. Somehow the smells combined into a pleasurable mix.

"Hey, there, Dean-o! Sam, how's it going? And-" The voice was male; moving just as melted chocolate would over warmed surfaces.

You turned slowly, some unknown feeling pricking up and down your spine.

"Gabriel, you douche." Dean grunted.

The angel was shorter than both Winchesters. He was built stoutly, solidly. There was hidden strength in his subtle movements. Long, dark blonde hair curled around his ears. There were hints of dimples in his cheeks. His eyes were the color of molten gold with touches of earthy hazel. There was something...familiar about them. That familiarity faded quickly as you tried to chase it to the source. A sharp lance of pain in your mind made you wince.

The angel was staring, almost dumbfounded at you. His mouth dropped open a bit. Dean made a sound.

"Hey, stop eyeing Y/N like she's a goddamned freak. I mean, we know she is, but..."

"Dean!" You shoved at the hunter's shoulder, making him bend to keep his balance.

He smiled crookedly.

Gabriel spoke. "What're you two mooks doing hanging out with a pagan goddess? I thought you'd sworn off that sorta stuff."

You blinked. Was he flirting? He had to be flirting.

Both Winchesters made matching 'huh?' faces. Sam was the first to respond.

"Gabriel, this is Y/N. Y/N Vanadís. She's a hunter. And pretty damn human."

" _Vanadís_? You're still going by aliases, huh, Freyja?" Gabriel smirked.

Confusion had you frowning. "Look, pal. I don't know who you've got me pegged as in this game, but, that's not my name and I have no clue what you're talking about."

Gabriel laughed. "You're joking."

The three of you just stared. Well, Sam and Dean more glared.

The angel slowly realized that none of this was some joke. His golden eyes swept back to you.

"You don't remember? Even after all these years, your memory never came back?" At your blank look, he whistled low. "Wow. Odin sure did a number on you, Freyja."

Frustrated anger had your patience snapping. "I have no clue what you're going on about or who you think I am. So either cough it up or I'll help loosen your tongue."

Sam stiffened at your side. "Ah, Y/N-"

Gabriel's gaze flipped between you and the boys. "Is she...She's for real."

You growled menacingly in the back of your throat and lifted one fist threateningly. Sam snatched at your wrist. Gabriel laughed, a pealing sound that echoed.

"You haven't changed one bit, Freyja! Still as fiesty as ever!"

"Who. The. Fuck. Is Freyja?" You bit out.

"Norse pagan goddess of love, sexuality, beauty, fertility, gold, war, and death. Daughter of Odin, dude with one eye and pet ravens. The mother of Valkyries and one of the afterlife's hostesses."

Gabriel stepped in close, fingers brushing your throat before you could stop him. He pulled the necklace you wore from beneath your shirt. The heavy gold rope slapped your chest when he let it fall.

"Look at that. Still have good ol' Brísingamen, huh? Aren't family heirlooms just great?"

"H-How did you know I had that?" No one knew you wore that beneath your clothes. The damn thing didn't have a clasp and was too small to remove over your head. You'd had it for as long as you could remember.

"Honey, you and I go way back." Gabriel grinned.

Sam held up his hands. "Hold up. You're saying that Y/N, our Y/N, is a Norse goddess?"

"You've been listening."

Dean shook his head. "Impossible. She's completely human."

"Even you know that isn't true, Dean-o." Gabriel rubbed his hands together. "She ever cry in front of you?"

"Why-What does that have to do with anything?" Dean asked.

Sam made a humming noise. "It was said that Freyja cried tears of red gold. Remember that one time Y/N got hurt bad in a hunt?"

Dean's eyes flipped up. "Hereditary, huh?"

You flinched away from the accusation in his tone. "I-I don't know. I don't remember. It seemed like the best thing to say. What else could I have said? 'Hey, don't worry guys, I cry blood instead of tears'? Yeah."

"I bet she heals way faster than you two, too. And she's fast. Never fights with a gun, though, right? Always a blade." Gabriel's words were like nails in a coffin.

"No. You can't be right. I-I'm human. I'm just a hunter." You gasped out the words, trying to forge past the pit of darkness inside your head to retrieve proof.

Pain split through your skull. You pushed harder, trying to dredge up something, anything.

Hands shook your shoulders. Your head snapped back and forward. No. You needed to remember! The darkness attacked, stabbing with jagged needle-like teeth that dragged you down into unconsciousness.

 

 

It hurt to see Freyja like this.

Gabriel had heard of her fall from Odin's favor. Freyja had always been strong-willed and more than a little ambitious. She'd been a love goddess, yeah, but she'd also been associated with the pleasures of sex, the battles of war, and even death. Good ol' Odin hadn't taken to his daughter so well after she'd risen in the ranks and become one of the rulers of the afterlife of the Norse.

After all, she was supposed to have been meek and simpering, a hearth-goddess to which mortal women would pray to during marriage and fucking and childbirth. But Freyja had gone above and beyond those tasks. She became ruler of one half of Fólkvangr, the heavens of those who died righteously in battle. Of course, Odin had saddled her with the 'sissy' half; Sessrúmnir. Those warriors who were of the fairer sex became Freyja's bunkmates there. Odin kept Valhalla for all those self-righteous pricks who went down swinging blindly.

Freyja had gone behind Odin's back, though, and given life to her own breed of warriors; the Valkyries. They were half mortal woman, half god. Fearless in battle, inquisitive, startlingly beautiful, and occasionally merciful. Just as Freyja had been. She'd used them to carry the fallen warriors to Valhalla and Sessrúmnir.

Odin had been displeased, to say the least. But not with the Valkyries, oh, no. He adored the Valkyries. They were obedient to him as his rank demanded. Freyja never had been.

So when Christianity came a'knocking and the pagan Gods' worlds started to crumble, Odin had seen fit to finally kick Freyja from her throne. He'd buried her memories before the eyes of all of the gods and bound her to a half-mortal body. Then, he'd punted her to earth.

Last Gabriel had seen her, the jötnar had been hunting her ceaselessly, intent on having her as their wife. But that'd been centuries ago. The jötnar died out long ago thanks to early hunters. So where had Freyja been? What had she been doing all those years?

Gabriel sighed, gazing down at the sleeping woman on the bed before him. She certainly looked the same as she had. Her eyes still flashed with anger and battle-hunger. Her lips were still the same soft, plump bow of pink. Her hands were small, yet battle-toughened. She even wore Brísingamen still. The thick gold rope hung around her neck and caught the light. Father, she looked every bit as much a goddess as she had back then.

Gabriel had always harbored a special place in his heart for the spunky, rebellious goddess. Yeah, she'd had her faults, but she'd been...Righteous. Flawed, sure, but she'd never been as much as an asshole as the other pagan douches. She'd put up with his Loki-shenanigans and even enjoyed a few of them. She'd never gone behind his back or spoken sharply toward him. Of course, she'd slapped him in reproof more than once when he'd crossed the line. But, he'd realized that she never meant it in ill will.

What had been a friendship between them had blossomed into infatuation on Gabriel's part. That had all changed after the world switched up.

Christianity came along; the pagans were hunted. Many of the old gods were slaughtered or downright forgotten. Gabriel had made himself scarce...Then dropped out altogether. He'd become a sort of nomad; travelling the world and wreaking mischief for centuries.

Blah, blah, Winchesters. Blah blah, Apocalypse. Blah blah, resurrection blah...

And now here he was, staring down at the very person he'd thought he'd never see ever again. Something in his chest twisted.

 

 

You came to slowly.

Your mind moved in fits and starts, aching like a torn muscle. With an irritated growl, you tried to sit up. Your head swam as stars winked over your vision.

"Hey, hey, whoa. Easy, now." Gabriel's voice was soft and...Concerned?

You frowned as you shook your head. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. But if you wanna play that game, sugar-"

"Don't call me that, Loki." The words left your lips without thought.

You jerked violently, pain lancing through your skull. Hands settled on your shoulders.

"Yeah, yeah. That used to be my alias."

You sucked in a shuddering breath and managed to blink open your eyes. Gabriel's face was mere inches away. Golden irises with flecks of amber and green glinted from beneath light brows. His lips were half-quirked up.

"So all that was not a dream." The words emerged flatly from your mouth.

"No sir-ee."

The heels of your palms scrubbed over your eyelids as you shook your head again.

This was all so...Unreal. But it all made sense. His words had nudged things around inside the dark pit of your memories. Little spots were lighter. It was like looking through a spottily-cleaned fishtank full of murky water while trying to spot black goldfish. Near impossible to catch a good glimpse of anything, but sometimes a word, name, phrase, place, or face would swim into filmy view.

"My name was Freyja?" You whispered.

There was a beat of silence. "You are Freyja."

That didn't sit right. You weren't a goddess. You were a hunter; a warrior who killed and protected. Not some flowery, soft, lily-white fairy who sighed atop a throne.

An image of two blades etched with ancient symbols flashed in the back of your mind. They were laid across a lap draped in white skirts. Bright, red leather wrapped the metal. Silver buckles held the straps tight. Hands stroked over the mirror-finished metal, rings glinting in the light. You gasped, blinking, raising your hands. They trembled minutely. Circles of silver and iron adorned your fingers. Some were set with old, murky stones; emerald, aquamarine, and amethyst and ruby. But they were the very same as those had been on the hands in the vision. Maybe a little more tarnished and dinged up, but the same.

Warm fingers gently encircled your wrists. "Yep. Those are the very same rings you used to wear. Bet they'd fetch a pretty price at auction."

You blinked up at Gabriel.

Another image; this one of a man laughing, head thrown back in mirth. His clothing was emerald and gold and silver. Long, golden hair curled beneath his ears.

"I think...I think I remember you."


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel had spent that entire day recounting every tiny, little, detailed story he could remember.

The two bozos had popped in every once and a while; suspicion written all over their mugs. They dropped off food for Y/N, came back to pick up the dishes, stuck their heads in to glare at him.

Y/N never seemed to really mind, though. She'd give them a fond smile of reassurance and off they'd trot.

Her personality was every bit as nuanced as it had been when she was a god. She was quick and inquisitive. She peppered him with questions and processed things in the bat of an eye. Her eyes would flicker whenever a memory surfaced. Her brow would furrow and she'd rub her temples.

Mental blocks were incredibly difficult and dangerous, both to create and tear down. Of course, Odin was only a minor pagan god and as such, his work had grown incredibly flimsy after centuries.

Gabriel loved watching her.

He noted that although her memories were spotty and sometimes unreachable, her mannerisms remained the same. She'd push her hair back to clear her vision or furrow her brow in the way that made a tiny crease appear in her forehead. She never ceased moving; always fidgeting with her fingers or jogging her leg.

Her sense of humor remained the same. Sometimes, bits of old Norse would slip from her lips. She didn't seem to realize when it happened; continuing on blithely in English.

It'd happened once when Sam was in the room, picking up her lunch plates. His head had whipped up at the foreign language and he'd stared for a solid minute.

Once, a lock of hair had fallen forward and curled over one of her cheeks. Gabriel had reached up, beating her slower motions, and tucked it behind her ear. Her skin was just as soft as he'd remembered. A faint flush of pink had skated across the tops of her cheeks. Her lashes had fluttered as another memory rose to the fore. Then, she'd really blushed, head ducking and cheeks flaming. She'd refused to so much as look at him for several moments.

Gabriel wondered what she could've remembered to have made her that embarrassed.

 

 

Reliving and remembering the past was...odd.

Some memories were drab and incredibly mundane; washing in an ivory basin before a polish bronze mirror, cleaning the blades of those etched swords, eating at a banquet table filled with gods.

Other memories sent your blood racing; fight-training with Valkyries, watching battles, commanding a battalion of Valkyries.

More had emotions, strong and untamed, welling up; the constant irritation and disappointment of Odin, the unending string of pursuit from jötnar as they sought your hand in marriage, fights, loss, love...Love.

There were flickers of Loki, or rather, Gabriel in most of those memories.

He was lurking behind a stone pillar, fingers spinning a crown 'round and 'round as servants sought it frantically. He was laughing, head thrown back and eyes glinting with mirth. He was fighting, a line of blood beneath his eye as copies of himself staved off jötnar with blades. He was seated beside you at a banquet, making illusions of faeries dance upon the rims of goblets. He was at the side of your throne as you leaned down to hear his words. His hair shone like burnished gold and his eyes gleamed with wisdom, sadness, and warning. He was advising Odin, trying to persuade him to leave your memories intact and let you remain a god.

He'd been loyal, yet mirthful. Bold and brash, merciless and piteous, cunning and quick, a warrior and a lover. A lover...Oh, yes.

You'd had feelings for Loki. But you'd been promised to another, Óðr. But Óðr had been a poor example of a fiance. He'd left you for months, sometimes years, at a time. He'd been content to have you tied to him so loosely that he may still have carried on his carousing and gallivanting across all the lands.

It was no secret that Óðr was fond of drink and women that were not his own. And so you, goddess of love and sexuality and all other things wifery, became naught more than a joke. But Loki had never, ever used you as a punch-line.

No, he'd been one of the only gods to take pity on you, to continue to treat you no less than you deserved. And he had gained your respect, your admiration, your infatuation, and then your love.

You'd never confessed your feelings to Loki, not even upon the announcement of your exile and banishment.

But Gabriel's simple touch; the brush of his fingertips against your cheek had given rise to all of those memories and thoughts and feelings. Abruptly, you were overcome. Your fingers ached to reach up and stroke his hair. You wanted to press your lips to his and throw your arms around his neck. The desire was nigh overwhelming. You clamped your lips together as your face turned red and stared at your hands in your lap.

When you remained quiet for more than five minutes, Gabriel leaned closer.

"Y/N, are you okay?"


End file.
